A Novel by Malcolm
by rhythm-within
Summary: Malcolm is your average college English professor-just with a violent mind and a novel to write


Malcolm sighed heavily to himself as he watched his students file out. None of them even bothered to come up and talk to him after the lecture. In other classes there would be at least a few, but that was the quality of the poetry survey he was having to teach.

He didn't even _like_ poetry and wasn't particularly qualified to teach it—he had a degree in creative writing, not _literature_—but you do what the dean tells you and the dean tells you to do it because some bureaucrat above him told him to tell you to do it.

Thankfully, it was his last class of the day. _Time to go home_, he thought, jiggling his car keys in his pocket, dress shoes clacking on the tiles. He didn't hold office hours unless students requested some but they never did. He knew he was no one's favorite teacher; and honestly, that was fine with him, no recommendation letters to write at any rate.

He made his way to the office to clock out and nearly ran right into Sheila, who's desk was a little farther down from his. It was the third time he'd seen her this week and he knew he still wasn't going to pluck up the courage to say anything other than usual pleasantries.

"Hello, Malcolm." She smiled warmly, her deep voice radiating in Malcolm's chest. He glowed for a moment, relishing in it, knowing he fell in love with her a little more every time he ran into her.

He stuttered, as always, "H-hello. Just, uh, signing out," he tried to wave. He couldn't talk to her right now even if he wanted to—and he did. But right now, he _had_ to go home and write.

"Always good to see you," Shelia called to his back, chuckling to herself as she sipped her afternoon tea and watched Malcolm frantically sign himself out and dash out of the office.

…

His computer was already on and his fingers were typing before his mind could even catch up. He'd been writing scenes in his head all day while he walked to and from classes, even some during classes.

_The Monarch makes his way into the control room, several unnamed henchmen are sitting around, monitoring computer screens and he wonders absently what they are actually doing. Probably trying to look busy so the Monarch doesn't kill any of them._

_He chuckles to himself and sits next to Shelia._

"No!" Malcolm shouted out loud, realizing what he'd just typed. "No, no, no!" he shouted, aggressively slamming the backspace button and replacing "Shelia" with "Dr. Girlfriend." It sounds appropriately diabolical _and_ sexy, he thought. He imagined Shelia in a form-fitting villain lab coat and he was starting to undress her when his phone went off. It was just an alarm, reminding him he needed to start making dinner soon before he forgot to do it entirely for the night. He shut it off and decided he was just going to forego it for the night. Tonight's the _big_ night. He's going to write the big confrontation—The Monarch is going to finally successfully arch Dr. Venture!

_"You ready for this, Honey?" The Monarch asks, leaning into 's side._

_"Absolutely, sweetie." She purrs. This is the day the Monarch has been waiting for._

_"Ready the Cocoon!" The Monarch demands, standing from his seat and pointing dramatically at the roof. Shelia hides her eyes behind a hand, trying not to let her shoulders bob with laughter. A henchman punches some buttons and the engines start whirring._

_"Set course for the Venture Complex!" He demands and a different henchman types in some coordinates. The Cocoon lurches forward and then nothing interesting happens. The Monarch realizes he is still standing dramatically in the middle of the control room and no one but Dr. Girlfriend is paying attention to him, her laughter completely unbridled now. She's clutching her sides and he has an incredible urge to kiss her forcefully but he calmly sits next to her like his excitement has been deflated._

_It's a dark night, rainy and humid, and the Venture Complex looms on the horizon, low lit and it's obvious that all the Ventures and their traitorous body guard are all nestled in bed—sleeping cozily while their doom hovers closer._

_The Cocoon blasts a carefully planned hole right through the roof and the flutter of henchmen descends into the two brothers' bedroom. As the Monarch suspected, they were sound asleep in their Learning Beds and Rusty didn't even notice the noise. However, Hatred is already bounding down the hall, hollering like he has lemon juice in his eyes._

_Several henchmen take the body guard down with net launchers and the two Venture brothers are floundering so incompetently that the henchmen just have to walk over to them and restrain them with loose rope._

_"What's going on?" the blonde one asks stupidly with a sleepy voice._

_"Shut up," One of the henchman says, slapping the boy—Hank—across the face._

_"What was that for?" He persists but the same henchman doesn't bother to say anything this time, he just slaps Hank again. This time, the boy gets the point._

_From down the hall, there is yelling and banging on the walls as a couple of henchmen drag Rusty—clad in nothing but his whitey-tighties, his pasty chicken legs kicking manically—by the arms._

_"Monarch! This is _clearly_ violating Guild rules!"_

_The Monarch doesn't bother responding—there is rain cascading down from the gaping maw of a hole in the roof, ruining the carpet and spurring on the Monarch's vehemence._

_"Venture, this has nothing to do with the Guild." He spits into Rusty's face, relishing in the blurry look in his eyes without his glasses but he can't stand for it."Henchman four, go get his glasses. Everyone else, take them down to the statue."_

_The only sound left is dragging feet and pouring rain. The Monarch relishes the warm feeling is his body. Dr. Girlfriend is at his side and they walk silently down the hall, scraping divots into the walls with switchblades, leaving their mark._

_The statue of Jonas Venture Sr. is lit up, just like it always is with little Rusty following Jonas' grand upward gesture, but now the remaining Venture clan is all on their knees, looking up at their patriarch with desolation drawing their faces tight, rain dripping down Rusty's glasses and blood dripping down Hank's chin. The Monarch refrains for laughing but he doesn't restrain himself from lodging his boot toe in Rusty's rib cage. Rusty coughs but he is obviously so scared that he doesn't say anything….fffffffffff…_

Malcolm woke up, his face pressed to the keyboard. There were now pages and pages of f's from his cheek. It was past seven thirty in the morning and he didn't have time to shower before dashing to school. He rubbed his eyes, looking over what he had written the previous night and feeling he could put off the death scene for one more night.

His first class of the day, at eight thirty five, was another poetry survey. It was in the big lecture hall and the students trickled in until the very last second. He started taking role, as always, looking out over the sparse sea of uninterested faces. Then, he got to the point on the role sheet, the most dreaded part of his Tuesday/Thursday eight thirty five in room 208 of the Johnson building class—_Venture_, _Dean _and_ Venture, Hank_. He swallowed, steeling himself to call out their names—not wanting to look up and see if they had actually shown up yet—when the door busted open and the two brothers tripped over each other into the top of the lecture hall. They made the same clumsy entrance every time and yet the whole class continued to rubberneck at them buffoning it up every time it happened.

"Present!" Dean's voice cracked when he shouted, not even in a seat yet, but as eager as ever.

"Have a _seat_," Malcolm called to them and only Hank had the presence of mind to look abashed about their tardiness. They noisily slid into their usual seats in the top row and dumped their thing onto their desks.

"Dean Venture," Malcolm said, looking up at both of them.

"Present!" Dean called again.

Malcolm marked the boy late, feeling a faint anger boiling in his gut. "Hank Venture," he called and Hank played it cooler than his twin.

"That's me," he only raised his hand instead of his whole, gangly arm.

"Yes, I see" Malcolm muttered to himself and proceeded with his lecture, conveniently keeping his eyes away from the top corner where the two bozo offspring of his most hated adversary from his college days always sat, Dean furiously scribbling notes and Hank mostly asleep.

He made it through the class and the twins made about as much noise exiting the classroom as they did entering it. Malcolm amused himself, snickering just a little bit, imaging the two of them pal-ing around campus with their piles of school supplies and bumping into everyone, profusely apologizing with their funny voices. He was going to enjoy killing them off tonight.

He went to his office, ready for his break, not sure if he was going to even make it through the rest of the semester without actually murdering those two idiots. He kicked back in his chair and popped his spine, feeling some of the tension leave his body but the anger continue to linger in his belly.

"Hi there," Shelia called in her deep voice, standing far enough away from Malcolm so as to avoid any of his flailing limbs as he startled into an upright sitting position.

"Oh! Hi, Sh-shelia," he stuttered, blushing and avoiding eye contact.

"Are you going to the New Year's party?" she asked, not beating around the bush. This time, his eyes traveled up to her and he couldn't help staring for a second. He was stunned into involuntary silence.

"I, uh, wasn't _planning_ on it," he admitted honestly, eyes now on his own shoes.

"Well, I was wanting to go. And I was wondering if _you'd_ go with me." She smiled sweetly at him and he melted.

"I—I don't know. I mean, I guess…"

"I do mean as my _date_," she clarified, taking a sip of tea as she watched Malcolm splutter in consternation.

"Uh—"

"Is that a yes?" She pushed, smiling over the rim of her cup.

"Okay. Yes. That would be…nice." He tried to smile but he felt so awkward and his lips sort of stuck to his teeth. If Shelia noticed, she didn't say anything. She just smiled and walked away. Why had he never spoken to her this much before?


End file.
